Fashion Show. Chapter 574.
Mrs. King and I are going to a fashion show tonight. It is at the Hotel Peter and Paul, a place I abhor—more on that later. I know one of the designers featured in the fashion show. This is why we are going. It is Flapper.
Flapper’s line is first in the show.
Python Lady says, “Oh! I can just see you lasting more than five minutes down there in hipster paradise!” I can leave after the Flapper.
I am told that some people think that Mrs. King does not exist. She exists. Everyone exists. I have no need to make anything up. Ask Katherine. Katherine knows how much I make up: nothing.
I am talking to a lady who is very, very old. She is from North Carolina, originally, but she now lives Uptown. She has gone native. Once you live in New Orleans long enough, you cannot live anywhere else.
Life is what you make of it.
The old, old lady is waiting for two friends to show up for lunch. One of them broke a hip last week, her pelvis, not her trochanter, which seems unlikely, and they are a half hour late. The old, old lady does not have a cell phone so she used the phone at the hostess station to call her husband at home to learn if the friends had called. No news is good news.
The old, old lady is going to wait another twenty minutes, then, if they do not show up, she will go have lunch elsewhere. I gave her this week’s copy of The Economist to read to help her pass the time. Maybe she will have lunch sitting next to me reading my Economist.
The ESPN radio show is broadcasting directly behind me. It is another New Orleans day.